Page 68 of Killer Clone

“And he was a friend of Darwin Rhodell.”

“I think we’d find that Darwin Rhodell was a friend of Chris Murray’s.” Hagen adjusted his tie.

Stella regretted choosing the butterflies for him. It was too jolly for this place. “Making pals with someone who works with dead bodies would’ve given Rhodell easy access to the materials he wanted. Better than the killing and chopping he ended up doing.” She rubbed her hands along her legs. The cold was getting through. “If we rule out Murray, what does that leave us? The person Patrick was mysteriously visiting?”

“At least we’ll have ruled one out. But if Murray’s out, we’ve only got one more option…and it’s looking like the tall, young, charming, down-on-his-luck psychopath. We might have a description. But we don’t have a full name or an address or anything else.”

“Let’s get some locals to canvass the area to see if other homes or businesses might have caught the Tacoma coming or going.”

While Hagen typed on his phone, Stella swore quietly under her breath. There’d be another murder tonight if they weren’t fast enough. She could feel it. And they weren’t moving fast enough.

Her phone rang. Mac. Stella put her on speaker and placed the phone next to Hagen.

“Murray’s car was at the hotel all Friday night. I figured he might’ve left it there and rented something in case anyone looked, so I checked his phone too. That stayed in Columbus as well.”

Hagen picked up the phone and talked into the speaker. “If he was smart enough to change cars, he’d be smart enough to leave his phone behind. Use a burner if need be.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. So I called the hotel’s security team. Murray’s got a chin like a plank of wood, right?”

Stella nodded. “Pretty much.”

“They think they’ve got him in the hotel bar at nine o’clock Friday night. They’re checking more recordings, but it’s looking like he didn’t do away with Patrick Marrion.”

Stella sat back. Her hands landed on the stone step behind her, the chill caught in them freezing the tips of her fingers. She didn’t care. “It’s a shame we can’t do this with Patrick Marrion. Track his car and his phone, I mean. If we knew where he went the night he died, we might be able to find his ‘friend from out of town.’ Right now, that friend is by far the most likely suspect, I reckon.”

Mac tittered a little and cut it off. “Wait a minute. His phone isn’t the only way to track his movements.”

Stella glanced at Hagen. Hope was rising. She didn’t know what Mac was thinking, but she sounded like she had something.

From the other end of the line came the sound of a laptop opening. After thirty seconds, Mac returned. “I’m checking his computer. Let’s see…”

Stella eyed Hagen as they both fell silent. Behind them, a smattering of voices told them the service had ended.

Mac’s voice came back. “There’s one address here in his search history that doesn’t match any of the other places Patrick Marrion’s been. I’m patching it through.”

29

I turned my truck into the parking lot of the Good Samaritan Homeless Shelter and Soup Kitchen. It was my second stop this morning, after the mortician’s where Otto used to work. That visit hadn’t been a total bust. If I couldn’t find someone here, then I’d return to the mortician’s at five and take that proprietor away.

I had to say, I was feeling optimistic, despite everything. I’d woken up this morning just as the sun was rising. It had been a miserable night. I’d failed. I couldn’t believe I missed Yates entirely.

All that time I’d waited, squatting there between the dumpsters like some kind of diarrhetic racoon. I was so sure he’d come.

And he had.

Just rolled into that alley like he owned the place. Climbed out of the SUV all dressed up in his fancy suit and his shiny shoes. Yates’s pal wasn’t much better. Not as sharply dressed but still tall and handsome and full of ego.

And I missed. Ugh.

But my traps were working.

I’d tracked Knox and Yates down—tempted them back to their old hunting grounds and spread the bait like an eagle-eyed hunter. And they’d followed the trail like a couple of stupid old bears. I could still pull them along by the nose at my whim.

The problem was finishing them off. That was where I was struggling.

And it would get harder now. From everything I’d read and seen on television, cops didn’t like it when you shot at them.

And then, when I woke at the crack of dawn in my sleeping bag, everything had become so crystal clear. They were probably hunting me down now, so I needed to send a message that I was still after them too.

---